Not escapable
by marinoa
Summary: Some things even time can't change.
1. Chapter 1

Not escapable 1/2

When Arthur stepped out of his hotel to the streets of Berlin it began to rain.

Well, in the other hand, rain felt very refreshing after the hot climate of India, but it would take about fifteen minutes walking to the place where the world conference was arranged and Arthur had left his umbrella in the hotel. He sighed and returned to get it.

The pouring rain was pattering the Brit's umbrella as he made his way through almost empty streets, trying not to get lost. While walking, Arthur found it somehow weird to be in a Western country again, especially when it wasn't England. He had lived in India for so long time, almost a year, that he had got used to eastern way of life. Though well arranged traffic, not-so-loud people etc. felt in some way comfortable. But Germany was not England.

Arthur would have wanted to go first back home to England and then come to Germany for the conference, but his last businesses in India had taken more time than he had expected and so he had to fly straight to Germany, arriving on the previous day. There, walking in the rain, Arthur couldn't help feeling a little homesick.

And nervous, somehow. He hadn't seen other nations for almost a year now (ten months and fifteen days exactly), not since his departure to India, and he hadn't been in contact with anyone except America, to whom he had dropped a line every now and then.

The Brit stopped in front of a sandy, high building. That should be the place where the meeting was arranged. For a fraction of a second he hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. Had France already returned, too? He had left to southern Africa a few days before Arthur's departure to India. Would France be taking part in this conference, too?

Slightly shaking his head Arthur opened the door and walked in to find himself in a big, empty hall. On the left side of the hall he saw a stairway leading to the second floor, on the right side was a coat rack, where Arthur left his coat and umbrella.

Someone's steps echoed in the hall and when Arthur turned around he saw America and Hungary coming down the stairs.

"Iggy!"

"England!"

A wide smile made its way to Arthur's lips. He straightened his back. "Good evening Hungary, America", he said with his most British voice. It felt unbelievably good to see familiar faces again and the Brit had to admit that he _had _missed his friends…a lot.

"It's so great to see you again!" Hungary exclaimed running to Arthur and hugging him tight. "We have missed you so much!"

"So England, how was your trip?" America asked tapping his back unnecessarily hard. "Were you able to arrange all your tea-stuff?" His careless laughter echoed in the hall.

"The meeting is about to begin", Hungary noted gesturing towards the stairway.

"Is…" Arthur cleared his throat. "Who'll be taking part in this meeting?"

"Oh, almost everybody", America answered indifferently. Hungary shot a glance at him, then turning to Arthur. "France returned from Africa few days ago. He is up there already", she told him, looking a bit unsure.

"Oh... I see."

"So", the Hungarian hesitated. "It seems you two have not been in touch lately?" There was a sad tone in her voice.

"No", Arthur answered formally, face blank. "We have not."

"Oh, now I get it-!" America blurted but was quickly cut off by Hungary. "Oh dear, I was going to get some tea! See you later." She hurried away.

"So how was India?" the American asked cheerily already forgetting the previous issue, as they walked up the stairs.

"Hm? Oh, it was nice." Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Warm. And full of people." _Come on, Arthur, it has been almost a year now, you have both moved on and everything is fine._

"You ok?"

"Yes. Sorry, I guess I'm just still tired because of the flight."

"Oh well, then it's nothing." America laughed. "I just thought you looked kind of depressed but if you're just tired, then it's fine… You know, I'm tired too, I didn't have any coffee this morning."

Yes, it was fine now. What had happened had happened. And Arthur had been doing quite well during the past year. He had focused on his business, had worked hard. He had got all things in order. Yes, he _had_ seen a few dreams about France, but those were just dreams, so he didn't let them bother himself. And of course it was only natural to imagine seeing someone you know in a foreign country; there was nothing weird about it. Arthur had taken a hold of himself and eventually he had stopped mixing every blonde or French speaking man with France, and he had seen less and less dreams about the Frenchman. He had moved on, let past be in the past. And there was _definitely_ no doubt that France had done the same. So, everything was okay now.

But still. Arthur couldn't help feeling a little nervous. Did France still remember? Well, of course he did, but did he look back at those times in a bitter or in a light-hearted way?

"Hey Iggy! You walked past the right door! The meeting is in this room."

"How could I have known?" the Brit murmured.

"I can see this note on the door without my glasses", America said rolling his eyes. "But yeah, you're right, it might be too hard to see for old people." And with a cheery laughter he opened the door rushing in. "The hero is back! I brought England." Arthur took a deep breath and followed the American.

The first thing he noticed was France sitting on his place behind the big table, looking straight at Arthur.

_First thing Arthur noticed as he walked into his kitchen was Francis, sitting behind the table, blue eyes immediately capturing the green ones, smiling warmly. "Good morning, Arthur."_

_Francis._

Arthur blinked. _ Pull yourself together, Arthur. Let past be in the past_. He inhaled.

"Good evening, everyone." He smiled tensely, not looking at anybody particular. "Long time no seen."

***

Francis was sitting behind the table, leaning back on his seat and gazing out of the window. The rain annoyed him. It made him feel chilly and uncomfortable. It also reminded him of England.

Japan, who was sitting on Francis' right side, took a look at his watch. "I wonder if England is fine. He is the only one who is not here and the meeting should begin in five minutes."

"Are you sure he's coming?" China asked. "I thought he was in India."

Russia was sitting on Francis' left side. "Alfred told me that he would be coming", he said with his usual sweet smile.

So, England would really come. Francis didn't feel uneasy; he just wondered how the Brit would act since they hadn't met for a long time. And the last time they met wasn't exactly…

"_Oh, you are going to India?" Francis said, forcing a polite smile on his face. "Well then, _England_, have a nice trip."_

"_Thank you, _France_, you too", Arthur answered smiling formally, but unable –and unwilling- to hide the anger in his voice. The two men were standing and staring heinously at each other with empty smiles, looking ready to rip each other's faces off._

…the most pleasant meeting. But what about today? Because, well, it _had_ been a year after all and Francis wasn't one of those people who got stuck in the past unable to move forward.

"Okay, I'll go and check the hall", America announced and jumped up from his place next to Russia. With a sight he shook his head. "Once again I'll have to be the hero who saves the day."

He left with Hungary, who went to get more tea.

For some reason Francis couldn't help but stare at the door, waiting for America to return with England. Japan took a quick look at him but said nothing. Instead Russia asked the question that was bothering the Asian, too. "So how are things between you and England, France?"

"Oh, we have not been in touch after we left to our trips", Francis answered casually. "It'll be interesting too meet him again."

"I see", Russia said with his typical friendly tone. Violet eyes blinked. Japan turned his face away as if he wasn't listening. "Hopefully you two will get along again."

Francis laughed. "Probably we'll end up fighting as usually."

The door flew open and America marched in shouting some nonsense again. And there, behind him, was England. Francis didn't mean to stare, but once he saw the figure of the smaller nation, his bright emerald eyes, he could not turn his eyes away.

It was _Arthur._

Their eyes locked for a moment, then Arthur smiled to everybody. "Good evening, everybody. Long time no seen."

"England!" North-Italy was quick to jump from his place and run to hug the Brit, who was in an instant surrounded by nations greeting him. Francis smiled at Arthur's bothered and yet joyful face and stood up, too. During those few steps he had to make to Arthur he had to admit to himself that yes, he _had_ missed the smaller nation. A lot.

When other nations around the Brit noticed Francis coming, they made him room to approach Arthur. Germany looked cautiously at the two of them and moved closer, ready to interrupt if he saw a fight coming.

Francis was a little surprised to find his heart flapping and he couldn't help wondering if Arthur still hated him.

"Hello _–should he say Arthur or England? -_ England", he said smiling. Really smiling, not forcing a smile, being glad to see that the Brit returned his smile.

"Hello France." There was not suppressed anger in Arthur's voice, Francis was relieved to mark. "So, um, how was your trip to Africa?"

"Very interesting. So different from my country."

Arthur seemed to relax a bit. "I guess that's what makes it interesting. I mean, being different from France."

Francis laughed kindly. "Are you telling me that my country is not interesting? We just met and here you go, already insulting me." Arthur joined to his laughter, somehow unsure though. Hearing him laughing like that made suddenly Francis' heart squeeze. Before they used to laugh together without that awkward tone.

"Exactly like when we were still-" Arthur cut himself off, eyes widening in panic. Francis' heart skipped one beat. Germany moved a bit closer. "…like before the trips", The Brit finished weakly, cheeks turning red.

"We should start the meeting now", Germany said firmly, willing to cut off the awkward situation.

"But of course", Francis nodded. "Well, I'm happy to see you are doing well, Ar… _Angleterre_."

"You too", Arthur gave him a watery smile, quickly finding himself a place on the other side of the table.

"Now. We are here to talk about global warming", Germany started talking, but Francis didn't pay any attention to his words. He couldn't.

Arthur. England. Arthur. _Arthur_. There he was sitting and absently gazing in to distance. What was he thinking about? India? England? Or perhaps Francis? Was he remembering what they had had? And why was Francis caring about the Englishman's thoughts? He actually wasn't, not really. He was listening what other nations had to say about…what was it…global warming.

"How do you find America's idea, France?" Germany's voice broke through Francis' thoughts.

"Hm? Oh, I disagree", he answered automatically, not even bothering to think what had been America's idea.

"You see, even France dumped your suggestion, America", Arthur said. "I'm telling you it's not going to work!"

"_Even_ France?" Suddenly Francis was fully awake again.

The Brits shoulders sank. "I-I mean…"

"We do not want any fights here, do we?" Austria interrupted. "The point is that America's idea is simply foolish."

Germany rubbed his temples. "We have to come up with something else…"

Francis sighed. For a short moment everything was like it used to be, England and France picking up a fight together. But now they were just polite, careful not to insult each other. Would they ever again feel natural in each other's company? Or would the atmosphere always be as formal as it was now?

Francis just couldn't focus on the issue of the meeting, so he let his mind wander and tried to settle his somewhat confused feelings until Germany said that it was late already and they would continue on the next day.

"Oh, England! We are in the same hotel", Francis heard Spain saying and felt a quick strike of jealousy. _He_ was not in the same hotel as Arthur since was in different hotel as Spain. _And so what? How would being in the same hotel change anything? I'm not quite in the position of sneaking into Arthur's room anyway._

While flowing out of the meeting room, down the stairway and out of the building nations were telling goodnights to each other.

"So", Francis said to Arthur who was walking in front of him. "See you tomorrow."

Arthur flinched of surprise and for a short moment he looked into Francis' eyes before turning his face away. "Y-yeah, see you."

And Francis turned around and went in the opposite direction.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Not escapable 2/2

The air was fresh after rain and cool wind was blowing lightly. It was the beginning of September and night was dark already.

Francis was walking through a park, listening to the sound of trees as wind made their leaves dance. He felt anxious and confused and like million feelings was running through him.

Francis shook his head in frustration. Why was he confused? He shouldn't be. It had been a year, _a year_, for heaven's sake!

"_It'sh thiz house here…" Arthur staggered to the door of his house and proudly hit his fist to his chest. "I live here."_

_Francis sighed. "I know, Arthur. I hope you haven't lost your key."_

"_Ahahaha_~_! Of courshe I haven't! Now where'ish it dammit…?"_

_Finally, when the drunken Brit had found his key and Francis had let them inside and helped Arthur into his bed where he was safely sleeping at the moment, the Frenchman saw Arthur's keys on the table in kitchen. Some day for sure the Englishman would lose them. So… Francis grinned. Better safe than sorry, right?_

The wind played with Francis' hair and he chuckled. Arthur hadn't had lost his keys yet, unlike the Frenchman had thought.

"_Francis, have I ever told you that your military history sucks? The United Kingdom would beat France up in a second."_

"_Would it? My dear Arthur, we both know that you can't stand up to _me _for_ _a second. Isn't it a shame to lose to somebody whose military history sucks, as you say?"_

"_Shut up, frog."_

_Francis smirked. "Make me."_

"_Bastard!" Arthur hissed. Francis chuckled triumphantly. "See?"_

_Arthur sat on his lap and pulled him into a kiss. "I said shut up…" he murmured._

_Francis wrapped his arms around his waist and smirked. "See?" he said again._

_Arthur buried his face in the Frenchman's neck. "Stupid smug frog", he whispered._

_Francis kissed him._

Francis smiled gently at the memory.

"_How did you get in, frog?" Arthur demanded when Francis walked into his bedroom. "How do you every bloody time manage to get in?"_

_Francis grinned. "It's a secret, _mon amour_", he said and enjoyed how Arthur's cheeks turned pink._

"_W-what are you doing here?"_

"_Hmm, I didn't want you to get lonely in this huge bed~"_

Francis sat down on a bench and closed his eyes. Yes, it had been a year. A year without Arthur.

***

Arthur squeezed his eyes closed and changed his position in bed _for fucking millionth time_ but it was no use. With closed eyes he could just see Francis even more clearly.

Why, _why_ did the reunion with the Frenchman make him feel this…empty? Everything between them was over, over for heaven's sake, so why couldn't he just let it be like Francis seemed to have done?

Groaning, Arthur wrapped his arms around his head as if that would keep the painful thoughts out of his mind. It didn't work, of course, and his groan turned to a lonely sob. It was foolish of him to even hope that Francis still loved him, not after everything he had said and done.

…And since when Arthur _did_ hope that the Frenchman was still in love with him? He had got over him, right? He had moved on, hadn't he? Then why…?

The hotel room felt suddenly too hot and too stale, so Arthur slid from the sweaty sheets and opened the door to the balcony, stepping outside. He leaned against the railing, watching down at the sleeping city of Berlin. The air fresh and cold and the cool wind mixed his messy hair even more.

Arthur's heart wrenched painfully. Just who was he trying to fool? He was still in love with Francis. He loved that bloody Frenchman more that he had courage to admit to himself. While being in India he hadn't forgot about Francis and all they had shared. No, vice versa. There had not been a single day that something wouldn't have reminded him of what he had lost.

Arthur leaned his back against the cold wall. The worst thing was that he knew perfectly well who the one to be blamed was.

The wind got stronger and Arthur was shivering but he didn't go back inside.

It had started like million times before.

"_Go away, frog!"_

"_I'll, _mon Cher_, after I'm done here…"_

But then something had gone wrong.

"_I hate you! I'm seriously sick of your actions!"_

"_Is that so? Well, it can't be helped."_

And suddenly it had come to an end.

"_Now fuck off already! I mean it, I don't want to see you anymore."_

"_That will be no problem since we both feel the same."_

_And then Francis was gone and Arthur was left alone. First he felt just angry as he watched the Frenchman walking away, but Francis wasn't hesitating one bit and when he had disappeared behind the corner without looking back even _once,_ Arthur couldn't help but sob despite his anger. It was really over now._

Naturally they had fought countless of times before. That wasn't the first time when they broke up. But their break ups never lasted long; in a day or maximum two Francis had always appeared in Arthur's house (the Brit still couldn't figure out how the Frenchman managed to get in) or Arthur had found himself in front of the Frenchman's door again, and they had always made up.

But that last fight… Francis hadn't come to his place and Arthur hadn't been able to force himself to go to Francis'. It hadn't been because of his pride. Well, it had, it bloody always had, but that time something else was stopping him: the look in the Frenchman's eyes when they had fought. There had been anger in his eyes, of course, but also…tiredness. He had looked tired of going through all those fights with Arthur, tired of _being_ with Arthur. And when Francis had left, he didn't hesitate at all. His steps had been firm, he hadn't looked back. And that was different to all previous times. Francis had looked _relieved_, relieved to be finally free from Arthur, like their relationship was something that was fun as long as it lasted but then just something to be thrown away.

For Arthur it wasn't like that. Eventually his anger had vanished, leaving only longing and sorrow in his heart. But all those things he had said… He knew he had hurt Francis, more than the Frenchman had hurt him.

Arthur slid down, sitting on the wet floor of the balcony. Francis had always been able to move forward, no matter what happened. A year, during which they hadn't been in touch at all, had passed. Obviously Francis hadn't got stuck in the past, that wasn't something he would do. He had continued his life, just like Arthur should have done, just like he had pretended he had done.

Something warm ran down Arthur's cheeks but he didn't bother to wipe the tears away. Instead he buried his face in his knees, arms around his head. Sobs broke free from deep inside of him, violently shaking his body.

It began to rain.

***

Francis was not one of those people who got stuck in the past unable to move forward, but now he realised that there was one thing he could not leave behind, no matter what he had insisted himself during the past year. He was still in love with Arthur.

Francis took a quick glance at the Brit, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table and listening with a dull expression to nations' ideas how to save the world. He had dark circles under his eyes.

They were at the meeting again, attempting to find the way to slow down the global worming.

North-Italy suggested that all cars should be forbidden. His idea was rejected.

Denmark suggested that all people should live like at prehistorical period again. His idea was rejected.

Someone suggested that they should put a limit to how much pollution was allowed to be let in the nature. His idea was approved.

Russia suggested that all who broke the limit should be sent to Siberia. His idea was mostly rejected.

No one bothered to listen what was America's suggestion.

The conference ended. Francis rose hesitatingly from his seat. His flight back to France would leave on the following day. Should he talk with Arthur before that? His eyes wandered around the room, attempting to find the Brit and he caught a sign of him exactly when the younger nation ran out of the room. Literally _ran_.

Francis sighed. Maybe he really should just give up.

***

Arthur was walking in the park, just wandering around without any destination and trying to free himself from the vague pain eating him inside. As usually, it was already evening when the meeting ended and dark had fallen. There was hardly anybody in the park besides the Englishman.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ He clenched his fists in frustration. He loved Francis and he fucking needed him to go on, to be complete again, but there was no _bloody fucking way_ he could just go and tell the Frenchman that. And even if he could, what would Francis say? Sorry, you had your chance, too bad everything is over now. Or maybe, I love you too but you hurt me too much back then to bee forgiven? That kind of answers didn't suit Arthur, but shit, what could he do? Waves of anger rushed through the small body of the Brit. They had shared something unique, something very special with Francis, so why _the hell_ did he ruin it all? With the help of Francis, of course, but it was mostly Arthur's and his hot temper's fault that everything went wrong.

Arthur stopped walking. He had exited the park and now he saw a four-floor building across the street. A hotel. The one where Francis was living.

Anger left Arthur leaving him feel only desperate. The Frenchman would return to France next morning and the Brit himself would leave in the following evening. This was the last chance to try to make everything better. He could go and explain Francis how he was feeling and apologise, because if they left everything open between them and left to their own countries, they would never able to fix things again. They just could not go and visit each other like before and probably next time they would meet would be another world conference. They would never be able to achieve what they had had.

Arthur didn't move. He could cross the road, step into hotel and meet Francis, or he could turn around and leave, knowing that everything was forever gone.

The wind was blowing into his face. He closed his eyes, took a deep breathe and took a step forward. Then he turned on his heels and rushed away.

Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as he walked away. He couldn't. He just couldn't gather his courage to face the Frenchman and be rejected.

Knees feeling weak he laid his hand on a building to keep his balance as he turned around the corner. His heart was beating painfully hard –and empty. So terribly empty.

Arthur bumped into somebody and raised his eyes to see surprised and extremely handsome face of Francis. In shock he took one step back, heart beating either in his throat or stomach or possibly both, mouth completely dry and unable to think of anything.

When the Frenchman was so close, looking at him with his deep blue eyes and Arthur wasn't prepared to meet him, he couldn't help but almost panic. And he could control his feelings even less than before. His lovely frog was there, right in front of him, staring at him with his wonderfully blue eyes and Arthur wanted nothing but throw himself into the embrace of the Frenchman. All the love and longing crushed on the Brit with full power making his head turn around and suddenly he realized how long time a year really was. "Francis…" he whispered mouth too dry to speak in a normal voice.

"Oh Arthur", the Frenchman said harshly and Arthur felt familiar, strong hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close into a deep, powerful kiss. His fingers clinched around Francis' shirt pulling even closer the taller blonde, who tightened his arms around the Brit's waist. Arthur parted his lips, inviting the Frenchman to feel him, memorize him again after being apart for so long. Francis slid his tongue in the Englishman's mouth exploring him, fully remembering what made him feel the best. Only the need to breathe made them finally pull back, but Arthur didn't loose his grip of the Frenchman's shirt and Francis' arms remained around the Englishman's waist, like they feared the other one to disappear once they let go.

They were panting heavily and gazing at each other. "Arthur…" Francis muttered, rubbing his waist like confirming that he was still there, in his arms. The way Francis said his name made Arthur blush and he recognised in the Frenchman's voice the same longing that he was feeling himself. For a while he couldn't think of anything else but Francis' arms around him, but when Arthur breathe slowed down a little, his mind filled with things that he wanted to tell the Frenchman.

"Francis", he stammered closing his eyes. "I am terribly sorry, I-" A finger touched his lips and he opened his eyes. Francis was smiling gently at him, that smile of his had left Arthur speechless more than once. "Shh", he leaned forward and whispered lovingly in the ear of the Brit, who rested his head against Francis' shoulder. "I missed you so, _mon amour_."

The Frenchman's warm breathe tickled Arthur ear and he enjoyed the feeling of having him this close again. He wrapped his arms around Francis, eyes suddenly feeling hot and he tried to blink the forming tears away. "I missed you too, Francis. I need you." He buried his face in Francis' neck. "I am really sorry, I said so many nasty things back then but you need to know that I didn't mean any of them!"

"You were not the only one", Francis answered, stroking gently Arthur's hair. "Forgive me, Arthur, I acted very stupidly."

The Englishman sobbed and soft lips found his owns again, but this time the kiss was slow and gentle, the kind of kiss that made everything around disappear as if time itself didn't exist.

"I love you so much."

***

As usually, Francis came from behind.

"W-what the-" Arthur squeaked in surprise and shoved the Frenchman's hand away from his butt. "Bloody frog, what do you think you are doing?"

Francis smirked. "Let's see how long it'll take you to guess right", he said throwing Arthur on his sofa. His cheeks burning bright red the Brit tried to ignore the warmth in his stomach. "Bloody git", he said trying not to look like wanting to be kissed.

Francis raised his elegant eyebrow. "What? You want me to leave?" he asked playfully. Arthur smiled, reached with his arms and hugged the Frenchman tightly.

"Never."

*

_A/N: Thanks for reading; I know this story is a one big cliché. ^^_

_I heard a song that appeared to be perfect for this fic, listen to _'Hello'_ by _Northern Kings_ (originally by Lionel Richie). =D_


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